Children of the Storm-Tossed Seas
by Lady Eleanor Boleyn
Summary: What if Pasiphae had never been able to finish her prayers? What if she'd stayed dead? What if Jason and Ariadne had been able to raise a family and rule Atlantis the way they'd always dreamed of? Everything would be perfect, surely?
1. Chapter 1

_This is my first Atlantis fic...I'm usually more of a Tudors girl, but this was just screaming to be written...Because I thought Pythagoras and Hercules were really stupid in the last episode, this is how I think it should have gone...it will eventually veer into GOT-inspired M-Rated territory, but for now, it's pure fluff...enjoy!_

 **Children of the Storm-Tossed Seas**

"We can't kill her whilst she's at prayer," Pythagoras hissed, grabbing at Hercules's arm as he made to raise his sword over Pasiphae's head, "We must let her finish or risk angering Poseidon."

Hercules grunted and acquiesced, but only reluctantly. Privately, he felt the sins Pasiphae had committed were so much greater than the one he would commit by killing her during her act of prayer that surely, the God of the Sea would overlook his. Just this once. Yet, with Medusa lost to him forever, having been driven to taking her own life by the guilt the Gods had burdened her with because she'd allowed Pasiphae to trick her into murdering the Oracle, he dared not defy Pythagoras's words. Not quite.

Until Pythagoras inhaled sharply.

"She's praying for resurrection."

The two friends looked at each other in horror. Pasiphae, resurrected and free to wreak even more havoc on Atlantis and Jason and Ariadne than she already had?

Hercules didn't know when he made the conscious decision to act; in fact, he doubted he made one at all. Whatever went through his mind however, the next thing he knew, his sword was stuck in the base of Pasiphae's throat and her fervent prayers had been choked off by the sickening gurgle of her life's blood filing her mouth and her lungs.

The seconds seemed to go on forever, but at last she was still and silent, her once olive complexion deathly pale. Pythagoras leaned forward and brusquely closed her eyes, weighing them down with the last of the copper coins he had in his pocket.

"She doesn't deserve that," Hercules said gruffly, shocked by his own actions as much as the younger man's.

"Say what you like about her, she was our Queen. A Princess of Colchis and a Priestess of Hecate. She deserves to be able to pay Charon at least. Besides, we're going back to Atlantis. Ariadne and Jason will be King and Queen within a fortnight. We'll hardly miss two little copper coins now."

There was a note in Pythagoras's voice that Hercules didn't dare argue with. The two of them walked back to camp in silence.

Jason looked up as they pushed through the branches into sight. Lifting their chins, they met his eye and nodded, steely resolve flashing between the three of them. He nodded and then went over to Ariadne, slipping his arms around her from behind.

"It's over, love," he whispered, brushing an errant curl away from her ear as he crooned into it, "It's over. We're going home. We're going home and Pasiphae will never hurt you again."

The strength of her embrace as she spun round and buried her face in his shoulder and the way she exhaled slowly into his chest was all the weakness she allowed herself. It was all she needed to express her relief to him.

He hugged her close, giving her that extra few seconds to release everything. After all, once they went home, she'd be Queen again. Her every move would be watched, her every emotion used as a barometer to measure the mood of the country. She deserved a little longer without that pressure weighing her down.

* * *

The sun was glorious, the waves lapping rhythmically at the walls of the city and the gulls wheeling overhead were calling joyously, as though they too were celebrating, as Jason and Ariadne, both clad in various shades of royal blue, white and gold, followed Melas and Cassandra across the courtyard of the temple, the chanting of the priests and priestesses ringing in their ears.

Reaching the altar, they knelt, hand in hand, for Melas to make his offering to Poseidon in their name and then turn to them.

"The gods are pleased to smile upon your union," he informed them genially, "Look upon one another and say the words."

"High and Mighty Poseidon, King of the Seas and Father of this blessed country, hear our words and our vow. She/he is mine and I am hers/his, from this day until my last, to be cherished, honoured and trusted above all other, and never to be forsaken. From this day until my last."

Their voices melded into one, slipping and sliding over each other and echoing with love and honesty until the temple walls, those very ones that had seen so much deceit and treachery, rang with them. As they finished, Jason took Ariadne's left hand in his and slipped an emerald and diamond ring on to her third finger, "You are my wife and Queen. The Queen of my heart. Forever." He promised her in husky tones so low that no one else could hear.

Without a word, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him fiercely, responding to his promise in the only way her overflowing emotions would let her.

Then they linked arms and turned back towards the temple entrance, preparing to be showered in flowers by the cheering crowds that thronged the sides of the streets for every inch of their route back to the palace for their wedding banquet.

* * *

The bonfires were crackling in the lower town below and the moon and stars gleaming above as Jason walked into the suite of rooms he now shared with his wife – _his wife! -_ and found her leaning out over the window sill.

"We've got it all now, haven't we?" he murmured, wrapping his arms round her from her behind in the same way he had done that day in the forest, when Pasiphae had been killed and they had known at last that it was over for good, that she would never torment them or jeopardise their happiness again.

To his surprise, Ariadne laughed breathlessly, as though he'd stunned her, "How do you know that? I made my maids and the physicians swear not to tell you until I'd had a chance to."

Now it was Jason's turn to look at her in shock. "What on earth are you talking about? All I meant was: my mother's dead, we've reclaimed Atlantis and tied the dynasties together with our marriage. What on earth have the maids and the physicians got to do with it?"

Ariadne turned to him, trailing her hand over his bare chest, "We've tied the dynasties together with more than that, Jason. We really have got everything."

When he still stared at her blankly, trying his hardest to decipher her cryptic comment and failing miserably, she laughed again and pushed herself off his chest, letting her now free hands wander down to rest on her midriff in the sign common to all women, no matter the era or the country.

Jason's mouth dropped open, "You mean...You're...You're pregnant? Already?!"

Ariadne nodded eagerly, "From those nights in the forest. The physicians confirmed it this morning."

With a great bellow of joy, Jason swept her up and off her feet. He twirled her round and round, too delighted even to consider getting tired or dizzy. His lips crashed down on hers with more passion than they ever had before, but in the instant before they did, their eyes met and locked. A single thought flew between them.

" _Surely, if ever we needed a sign that the Gods are smiling on us now, this must be it? Surely?"_


	2. Chapter 2

_A very short chapter that was so saccharine it left me with toothache - but we need this one for the next couple I have planned to make sense, so excuse the fluff overload!_

 **Chapter II**

Bells were ringing out across Atlantis, swinging merrily for three gay peals, then pausing for a heartbeat, before ringing twice more. Three heartbeats of silence followed, before the rhythm was repeated over and over again.

They were ringing to tell the country that their Queen had been safely delivered, and delivered of twins at that. A healthy boy to be their Crown Prince – hence the three peals – and a beautiful Princess too.

Securely ensconced in the luxury of her silken sheets in her royal bedchamber, high above the city, the new mother heard the merry peals sending out their blessed message and her heart swelled with delight. Cradling a child in the crook of each arm, Ariadne laughed breathlessly, beaming as she lifted each of them up to kiss their soft downy temples.

"That's all for you, my darlings. That's all for you," she whispered, "That's all for you because you've made your father and I so extremely happy."

As though he knew she had just mentioned him, Jason tapped on the door and pushed it open, "Can I come in yet?"

"Of course!" she exclaimed, shifting in the bed to make room for him as he crossed the room in two strides and sat down, gazing rapturously at the tightly swaddled bundles she held in her arms.

"Our children, Ari," he breathed, "Our children!"

Ariadne wanted to respond, wanted to say something in return, but her joy was too great to let her do so. It was choking her and threatening to make her burst all at once. All she was capable of doing was reaching out and gently placing their daughter in Jason's arms, whispering, "Meet our little girl, Jason."

"Our little girl. Our Princess," Jason murmured, his smile widening with every word until it was splitting his face from ear to ear, "Our little girl, Ariadne. I can already tell she's going to be as beautiful as her mother."

Ariadne blushed, "Flatterer."

"She needs a beautiful name," he continued, pausing to think.

"Actually, Jason, I'd like to name her Danaë after my mother, if you have no objection. I've always sworn my first daughter would be named for her grandmother."

"And how can I refuse that, sweetheart? A vow before the Gods can never be broken, otherwise we risk their displeasure. And since I myself am touched by them, I definitely can't afford to anger them. Rest assured, darling, Princess Danaë of Atlantis she shall be."

Yet, despite his best efforts, Jason couldn't quite keep the disappointment out of his voice. He'd hoped to have at least a partial say in their little girl's name. He'd been trying out names in his head ever since he'd first found out Ariadne was pregnant and, while he knew his wife would never allow him to name their oldest daughter after her, he'd had various other names he'd been hoping she might like instead. Anthea, for instance, which meant _blossom,_ for he'd been sure she'd be as beautiful as a flower, like her mother was. Or Melissa. He'd always liked that name, even as a boy back when he was just sailing with his father, even before he'd fallen into Atlantis. But now Ariadne had taken that decision out of his hands. Danaë was a beautiful name, he couldn't deny that, and he understood why she'd chosen it, but he just wished he'd got a little more of a choice in the matter.

As though she could sense his disappointment, Ariadne reached out and placed her now free hand on his wrist, "I'm sorry. It's just..."

"You needn't explain, it's fine," Jason managed a smile, "I'd want to do the same if I'd known my mother and she hadn't been a witch and a murderess."

"You can name our son, if you like," Ariadne offered, wanting to be generous with him in order to ease the tension that was suddenly spiking in the room as he brought up the delicate matter of his mother, "Name him anything you like and I won't protest, I promise."

"Really? Anything?" Jason raised his eyebrows and Ariadne chuckled, relieved to see him back to his usual teasing self so easily.

"Well, I might have a bit of a problem with you naming him Pasiphae," she joked, "She was a traitoress, after all."

"I won't do that then," Jason promised, glancing down at his son and scrolling through names in his head, muttering strings of them under his breath, trying to decide which of them best suited the squirming bundle in his beloved wife's arms.

At last, satisfied with his decision, he looked up, "Perseus. It suits him perfectly."

"Perseus. The destroyer."

"Destroyer of our enemies," Jason confirmed, "We'll raise him to be the King your father promised to be before Pasiphae got her claws into him and no country will ever dare to stand against him for fear of his wrath."

"He'll be as brave a warrior as his father," Ariadne smiled, cradling the little boy even closer as she spoke, "It's perfect."

The two of them shared a long look of adoration and then Jason placed Danaë back in her arms and kissed her cheek.

"I'll go and speak to Melas and Cassandra now. We'll have their names announced on the third high tide, as tradition demands."

Ariadne nodded, offering him a soft smile as he stood up. He hesitated, looking down at her for a moment, "I do wish you'd get some rest, love. You look dead on your feet."

"I'm not on my feet," she retorted, but succumbed as he arched an eyebrow and half-frowned at her.

"When Selena gets here to look after them," she promised, naming her favourite maid in waiting, who had served her faithfully as a child and fled Atlantis for fear of her life when Pasiphae took power, only to return to carry her train at her coronation.

Jason nodded, turning back to the door. On the threshold, he glanced back. What he saw melted his heart.

Perseus had started to fuss quietly and Ariadne had lifted him to her shoulder, letting him nuzzle into her ebony curls as she patted his little back to soothe him.

In that instant, Jason knew for certain that he was, as Medea had once called him, 'touched by the Gods'. Thanking them from the bottom of his heart for granting him such favour, he hurried off to set in motion the next set of ceremonies that would assure the people of Atlantis that their land and throne and royal legacy was secure for at least another generation.


	3. Chapter 3

_This one is for Vivien, to say thank you for being so amazing in the face of everything else just going crazy...I'm also relying on her - and any other Tamora Pierce fans - to spot the Immortals reference here!_

Medea sat bolt upright, breathing hard. The images swam in front of her eyes, refusing to leave, even as she blinked furiously, biting the inside of her cheek to choke back the tears.

Jason, laughing with Ariadne as he tossed a little girl with curly dark hair in the air, making her squeal delightedly.

Jason, riding his chestnut horse with the same little girl perched on the front of his saddle, his arms wrapped protectively around her as he let the leather reins glide through his hands.

Jason, splashing the little girl as she tried to run away from him through the shallows of the sea lapping the walls of Atlantis.

The little girl. Medea considered her, turning her over in the recesses of her mind as she fought to control her breathing. She too was touched by the Gods, that much was obvious by the way her blood had sung to Medea's. She too was touched by the Gods, that much was obvious by the way her blood had sung to Medea's.

And her eyes and hair made it only too obvious she was Jason's daughter.

" _She should have been my daughter,_ " Medea thought bitterly, " _If Jason had only listened to me, I would have been his wife, his Queen. She would have been my daughter."_

Without realising what she was going to do until she did it, she found herself before her brazier, heaping coals and incense on it, feeding the flames so that they leaped and sparked, casting eerie shadows on the walls of her chamber.

Tossing her hair back with a wild movement of her head, Medea stretched her hands out in supplication, ignoring the way the tongues of fire licked at and seared her skin as the ancient language of Olympia spilled over her lips in prayer.

" _Hecate, I beg you, hear my prayer. Bring that girl to me. Bring the girl I saw in my dream, the girl whose blood sings with the music of Apollo's lyre, to me so that I might cherish her and hone her gift. That I might teach her not to fear her power. That I might treat her as the daughter I have never had, as Pasiphae treated me."_

Medea had never meant a prayer more fervently in her life. So determined was she to have Hecate heed her that she kept silent her true motives – to wreak her revenge on Ariadne and claim her cousin for her own; to have him cleave to her as she had once thought he might, those nights in the forest when it was just the two of them and nothing else had seemed to matter. Not Pasiphae, not Ariadne, not even the fate of Atlantis. On those nights, there had seemed to be nothing but her and Jason and the way their very souls had seemed to resonate, to thrill in perfect, dangerous harmony.

Medea never voiced such a desire, hoping to keep her prayers pure, but Hecate, as deities will, saw past Medea's words into the depths of her heart. When she granted Medea's wish, therefore, she did so in such a way that threatened to engulf the entirety of Atlantis in scandal.

* * *

Blithely innocent of how their world would one day be rocked, Perseus and Danaë grew up in the Atlantean nursery, growing from chubby infants who gurgled at all who saw them, first into rambunctious toddlers, and then into small determined people. A brother and sister who were never apart and who were blissfully confident, despite their knowledge that the future of Atlantis would one day rest on their frail shoulders.

Even at five, it was clear that their blossoming attributes complemented each other perfectly. Danaë was her father's daughter, with his loyalty, his fearlessness and the kind of eye that heralded the possibility that, once she was old enough to handle a bow, she'd become as fine an archer as her mother. Perseus, on the other hand, had a sense of justice as strong as his father' and a sense of duty as keen as his mother's.

With their classically dark hair and sea-blue eyes, it wasn't long before the common people began to revere them as Atlas and Cleito, the legendary first King and Queen of Atlantis, reborn. Nothing made the city happier than to see little Danaë trotting through the streets on the saddle of her father's great chestnut hunter or Perseus riding Jason's shoulders as the royal family patronised one of the many tournaments that the city hosted to honour Poseidon.

* * *

But even in those early years of bliss, there was a shadow hanging over them. There were those – minor palace servants for the most part – that whispered that the twins were unnaturally close, that it wasn't normal for a little girl to cling to her brother so much. For cling to Perseus Danaë did. Whenever she was sick or scared, or had woken from one of her many nightmares, it was Perseus she called for, rather than Jason or Ariadne or her devoted nurse, Laodice.

And Danaë had so many nightmares that even the devoted Laodice lost count of them; lost hope of the Princess ever having a peaceful night's sleep.

Because the nightmares started when Danaë and Perseus were about three, which was the summer their younger sister Cynthia joined the nursery, the nightmares were at first ignored as a young child's inherent reaction to a major upheaval in their life. However, as the years passed and Danaë's nightmares increased rather than decreased in frequency, they became a source of serious concern to her caretakers. The Court physicians brewed a series of sleeping draughts, each more potent than the last, until they were dosing her with the maximum amount they felt it was safe to give a child so young, yet nothing helped. Danaë continued to wake screaming of corpses and flames and ruins and near nightly basis. The few nights she slept through, Perseus was inevitably to be found having crept into her bed and curled against her, having lent her peace by his mere presence; a peace that no amount of soothing from her parents or Laodice could ever hope to give her.

Rumours abounded, of course. Rumours always did. But Jason and Ariadne, unable – or at least unwilling – to believe the Gods might be testing them again, suppressed them – and their own fears – as best they could and tried to get on with their lives regardless.

Until the night Danaë set her own hair on fire.

* * *

 _Danaë stood in a round room with stone walls, a room with loads of arches out into the darkness. She spun on the spot, trying with eager sea-blue eyes to take in every detail of the unfamiliar room. Before long, her natural curiosity made her take a few steps into the room, wanting to find out where one of the arches opposite her led._

 _She never made it there. As she groped her way forward by the light of the embers glowing in the braziers dotted around the room, a sudden roar behind her made her turn round._

 _Bright orange flames leaped and snapped like Papa's hunting dogs, cutting off her escape route, the way she somehow simply_ knew _she'd come._

 _She fell back in terror, unable to stop herself screaming, though she bit her lip to keep the tears back. She was a big girl, not a baby like Cynthia. She shouldn't be crying like one._

 _Yet, as she watched, the fire spread from one archway to another until she was completely surrounded. Then the flames seemed to turn, to focus their attention on her. Frozen to the spot, as though she was playing some sort of game with Perseus where she wasn't allowed to move, Danaë could only watch in horror as the ring of fire made its blazing way towards her._

 _As the first orange fingers – Danaë didn't know what else to call them – licked at her sandals, her arms, her hair, Danaë couldn't so much as scream. Mouth silently open, she fell to the floor..._

 _..._ and woke, shooting upright in her own bed, her own pretty room across the hall from Perseus's. A strange flash of orange flew up beside her as she moved. It moved as she twisted her head, trying to see what it was. At last, keeping her head still but sliding her eyes across, the way Papa had taught her and Perseus to do when he took them on walks in the woods and pointed out animals that they weren't allowed to scare, she managed to see what it was. Fire. She hadn't left the scary flames behind in her dream. They'd followed her. They were still in her hair.

She sniffed. She knew that smell. It was the smell that came out of the kitchens when the servants were cooking for a big feast. Except it wasn't coming from the kitchens. It was coming from her hair.

Danaë screamed.

* * *

"This isn't normal! We never leave candles anywhere near their beds! Little girls can't just set their own hair on fire!" Ariadne snapped, rounding on Melas as he struggled to find a response in the face of her fury.

"Ariadne," Jason murmured warningly, jerking his chin towards the corner of the room, where Danaë and Perseus were quivering in their nurses' arms. His message was blatant enough. Their daughter had been traumatised enough without the added stress of seeing her mother fall apart as well.

Ariadne threw him a black glare and shook off his hand, but she did make a visible effort to hold her fear and anger back better thereafter. When Melas ventured, "Majesty, if I might..." she let him take her into the opposite corner of the room and kept her voice low enough that Jason, who had since moved to try to console his terrified daughter, could only pick out the odd word – temple, Cassandra – from their conversation, though he strained his ears as best he could.

At last, Ariadne nodded, dismissed Melas with a wave of her hand and came back to sit beside them.

"He's gone to ask Cassandra's advice," she said, her voice overly cheery, "Shall you like that, sweetheart? Having your fortune told by the Oracle herself?"

Tears finally dry, Danaë cocked her head for a moment, considering, and then nodded shakily. However, the way she clung to Ariadne as the latter lifted her out of Jason's arms and into her own proved she was still scared witless.

Perseus, who had recovered rather more quickly than his sister, now that the main kerfuffle was over, began to squirm and squawk at being left out. Jason turned to him automatically, lifting him on to his lap the way Ariadne had just done with Danaë. Danaë's little hand crept out of her mother's embrace and found her brother's. The four of them sat there, in their silently gloomy tableau of family unity, until Melas broke into their reverie by re-entering the room, Cassandra trailing in his wake.

As she laid eyes on Danaë, the younger woman seemed to fall into a trance, one arm outstretched towards the five-year-old.

"Flames rage in her breast that will engulf the city if they are not harnessed. But only she who is blood and friend and foe, she who lives across the sands, has the power to harness them. Only she who is blood and friend and foe across the sands."

Her message delivered, Cassandra slumped to the floor, cheeks ashen as the blood rushed out of them. She lay insensible as Jason and Ariadne mulled over her words, communicating in rapid, wordless glances.

" _She who lives across the sands. She who is blood and friend and foe."_

The answer to the riddle crashed over them both at once with an identical shock of icy horror. They gaped at each other over the childrens' heads for several seconds before Jason breathed the single name that was on both their minds.

"Medea."

* * *

Medea was standing on the ramparts of her childhood home at Colchis when the crow arrived bearing the missive sealed with the blue trident of Poseidon. The trident of Atlantis.

Clicking her tongue appreciatively at the bird, the petted its ebony feathers, then tugged the scroll from the ring around its leg. Breaking the seal, she scanned the careful lines of ink, heart lurching despite herself at the sight of Jason's all-too-familiar handwriting. She'd spent more time than she'd care to admit studying what few scraps of his bold stylus strokes she had in her possession , more time than was good for her hoping that he might one day write her a love note; far more than was necessary than for her to recognise his handwriting now.

She scanned the lines greedily, taking in each word a dozen times over, though she'd understood their meaning the very first time she'd read them. Jason's eldest daughter show signs of being touched by the Gods and he was begging her to come back to Atlantis and help the child learn to control her powers, as his mother had done for her in Colchis all those years ago.

Medea smirked. This was all going exactly to plan.

Years of living on the run with Pasiphae had taught her to pack light and move fast. Snatching up the bag she had prepared for exactly this eventuality, she called for her horse and was on the road within the half-hour.

* * *

Danaë stood between Mama and Papa, hopping impatiently from foot to foot as she waited for the doors of the audience chamber to open. Papa hadn't told her who would be visiting, only that they were very special and would be able to help her with her scary dreams. She couldn't wait to meet them.

At last the doors swung open and a woman with honey-brown curls and clear, creamy skin entered. She was dressed in leather riding clothes and had a bow slung across her back.

Danaë felt Mama go stiff beside her, but Papa drew his hand out of hers and crossed the room to the strange woman in two strides, kissing her hand warmly.

"Medea," he said with relief, "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"Well, I couldn't let poor Danaë suffer anymore than she already has," the woman replied, "I know how traumatic the onset of powers can be for a child. I take it that's her?"

The woman tipped her chin towards Danaë and Papa nodded, his face softening, "Yes. Danaë, sweetheart, come here."

Suddenly shy, Danaë shrank back against Mama's skirts. Not sure what to do. She was desperate to meet the person Papa had promised would help her with her dreams, but Mama didn't like her and Danaë wanted to make Mama happy.

"Danaë," Papa repeated, a little more firmly, and this time Mama gave her a gentle push, "Go on."

Danaë stepped forward and Medea knelt down next to her.

"Princess Danaë. I'm your Cousin Medea. It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too," Danaë answered, putting her hand out the way she had often seen Mama do with visitors. Medea laughed and kissed the top of it, "You're a charming little thing, that's sure enough. Now, do you think this necklace would suit you?"

She pulled a glittering crystal necklace with a white teardrop stone hanging from it out of a pocket of her riding dress. Danaë reached out for it, gasping.

"It hums," she whispered as she touched it, for the stone did indeed seem to have voices, voices that were calling to her, though too quietly for her to understand what they were saying. Medea nodded.

"It's enchanted with the magic of Colchis. It will stop all your nightmares."

"That's what Sylas says his sleeping potions will do," Danaë grumbled, but she smiled and let Papa tie the necklace around her neck anyway. At least the necklace was pretty and wouldn't taste nasty the way Sylas's potions did.

"What do you say, Danaë?" Papa reminded her and she obediently chirruped, "Thank you, Cousin Medea."

"Don't thank me yet, Your Highness. Thank me in the morning when you've had a peaceful night's sleep, hmm?" Medea chucked her under the chin and Danaë bit her lip. She hated being treated like a baby.

Because she was a big girl, she didn't protest when Papa said, "Well, that's good, isn't it? You won't have to sleep with Perseus tonight, will you?" a little too brightly. She simply bit her lip again and nodded to hide her fear.

* * *

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Danaë threw herself at Medea, burrowing into her waist. Medea chuckled and detached the child, bending down to her level.

"You're welcome, Princess."

"How did you know it would work?"

Ariadne asked the question, but it was Danaë Medea spoke to when she answered. "I knew it would work for you because it worked for me. I had those dreams too, as a girl."

"You did?" Danaë's eyes widened.

"Of course. They're not bad dreams."

"Yes they are! They're scary!"

"I know they are now. But remember, they're proof you're special. You have special powers, Danaë, like I do. The dreams are telling you that you need to learn to control your powers."

"Can I learn to do that?"

"I did. And I don't have the dreams anymore."

"You don't?"

"Not unless the Gods are really trying to tell me something. They told me about you, you know."

"Really?"

"Really. They told me about you as soon as you were born. They told me you were a very special little girl and I had to look after you."

Medea was lying, twisting the truth as easily as she had ever done, luring the little girl in. She suspected Ariadne, at least, mistrusted her, if the way her hand closed surreptitiously about her daughter's wrist was any indication, but the loyalty-inducing and enhancing spells and wards against visions placed on the necklace had already begun their work. Danaë's eyes held a light in Medea's presence that they had never held before, and having just had her first ever peaceful sleep without her brother made her even more trusting, even more gullible. Like Medea with Pasiphae before her, Danaë would soon be ready to cling to Medea through whatever storm the world tossed at her. It wouldn't be long before she would happily follow Medea to Colchis and forget all about Atlantis.

* * *

"No. Jason, no! She's not taking our daughter!"

"Ariadne, please! Danaë needs to learn to control her powers and you heard what Cassandra said. Medea's the only one who can help her." Jason reached out towards his furious wife, but she wrenched away, spinning on her heel so that the skirts flew out behind her.

"I nearly lost you to that witch's meddling. I will not lose our daughter!"

"But you didn't lose me, "Jason reminded her, crossing the room to stand at her shoulder, "You didn't lose me and you won't lose Danaë either."

He ventured putting his arms around her waist, relieved when she didn't pull away, but rather tipped her head back against him, "You were a grown man. Danaë is a five year old girl."

"A five year old girl who wants nothing more than to be like her mother. You can't seriously be considering condemning her to a life of not being able to control her powers. She's already managed to set her own hair on fire. Who knows what else the raw magic could do to her?"

"I still don't see why Medea can't teach her here. I'd feel a lot happier if she was still in Atlantis. We have our own temples to Hecate or whichever Goddess Medea claims to get her powers from," Ariadne retorted, but the fight was being sapped from her, her resistance weakened by having to struggle against her fear that Jason was right; that having raw, uncontrolled, even wild, magic, could damage their daughter irreparably.

"Trust Medea to know what's best," Jason urged, sensing the doubt that was seeding itself in Ariadne's mind, "She's been through this herself, remember? And hasn't she kept her promise about Danaë's nightmares? Besides, I don't think you could keep Danaë from her now. They're almost inseparable."

"That's what worries me," Ariadne retorted waspishly, but then she sighed, collapsing resignedly into Jason's chest.

"I can't fight all three of you. Let her go, if that's what she really wants. Let her go. But by Poseidon, I just hope we're not making the biggest mistake of our lives."


End file.
